


forgiveness is a path you don’t walk without stumbling

by AuroraWest



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Gen, Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraWest/pseuds/AuroraWest
Summary: Inspired byThe Relicbymareebird.It’s been eating at him, little by little, what Stephen Strange did to Loki. At first it was easy to ignore. Cutting Loki off from his magic is brutal, but it’s effective and it’s not going to cause any lasting harm. Probably. Maybe.Does he actually know that?Or, Stephen Strange has a guilty conscience.
Relationships: Loki & Stephen Strange
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	forgiveness is a path you don’t walk without stumbling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mareebird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mareebird/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Relic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022102) by [mareebird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mareebird/pseuds/mareebird). 



> This was inspired by the wonderful [The Relic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022102/chapters/37392101) by [mareebird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mareebird/pseuds/mareebird) and is pretty much 100% dependent on it, by which I mean, this won't make a lot of sense if you haven't read it. If you haven't read it, what are you waiting for? Anyway, the idea of Stephen's off screen epiphany in the story wouldn't leave me alone, so, here we are.

He wouldn’t have let him die.

That’s what Stephen Strange keeps telling himself. And it’s true. He’s a doctor. _Was_ a doctor. Is still technically a doctor; they can’t take either his Ph.D or his MD from him. Doctors do everything in their power not to let people die. They definitely do not set out to kill; to trap someone in a pocket dimension, to force them to live the same thirty seconds over and over until they inevitably starve.

Well, they’d die of thirst first. He assumes even Asgardians succumb to thirst before hunger.

By the end, he hates the meetings. He hates sitting in Stark Tower with Stark, who is smug and cocky and convinced of his own cleverness in the most annoyingly grating way. He hates Ross’s holographic presence, hates the way Ross looks to him like they have some sort of shared purpose, like they’re in cahoots or something. As though Stephen likes him or agrees with him. As though the arrangement between them is anything but Stephen protecting Earth, the way he’s meant to do. That was what he signed up for when he became a Master of the Mystic Arts. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t do it to the best of his ability, but there’s nothing about Ross that he likes.

Most of all, he hates having to face Thor. Because every time does it, every time he looks into Thor Odinson’s eyes and keeps his expression carefully blank so he doesn’t give anything away, he feels another part of his soul crumbling.

Christ. That’s so melodramatic.

Except it’s true. He’s a doctor, and he intentionally caused harm.

It was meant to scare them. Well, scare Thor. Loki, he hadn’t cared much about. Had their…negotiation…gone on more than a few hours, Stephen would have pulled Loki from where he’d sent him. He’s not a monster. He’s just a guy trying to do his job. Loki was an unknown and possibly—probably—a threat. The American government certainly thought so. Stephen didn’t _not_ think so.

That’s the problem. Stephen didn’t think enough. For someone who thinks he’s so damn smart, he can’t forgive himself for what an idiot he’s been.

It’s been eating at him, little by little, chipping away at him. At first he just ignored it, because it was easy to ignore. Cutting Loki off from his magic is brutal, but it’s effective and it’s not going to cause any lasting harm. Probably. Maybe. Does he actually know that?

And that’s part of the problem too. The longer this goes on, the more Stephen realizes he doesn’t _know_ , does he? Doesn’t know that Loki posed a threat, doesn’t know that what he’s doing won’t harm the man permanently. Maybe not ‘man.’ God, Frost Giant, whatever.

He says nothing, obviously. Not to Ross—god, what a joke—but not to Wong, either, though Wong, he’s sure, can see that something’s bothering him. It’s just—Stephen has never confided in others. Partly it’s because he keeps his feelings close, locked down under a layer of sarcasm and arrogance (he used to think it was justified, now he’s not so sure). But partly it’s because confiding in others contains an implicit admission of _wrongdoing._ If he goes to Wong and says, _this is bothering me_ , what he’s really saying is:

_I fucked up._

He’s not sure he really knows how badly he fucked up until he steps through a portal into Stark Tower and comes face to face with Loki.

Loki looks…fine. Healthy. Angry, but then, Stephen can’t blame him. He looks very much the god that he is, and Stephen isn’t intimidated, but maybe he’s…impressed? Impressed that Loki shrugged off what Stephen did to him, impressed that he’s come here when he absolutely didn’t have to. Stark shared Eriksen’s test results with him. There’s no need for Loki to be here. But he is. It’s brave, Stephen guesses.

No, there’s no guessing. It _is_ brave. It’s brave and Stephen hasn’t ever thought of Loki as brave; he’s certainly never thought of Loki being brave for someone he cares about, but that’s clearly why he’s here—to protect Eriksen.

It’s that, the realization that Loki cares enough about someone else to come here, into the lion’s den, to face his tormenters, that brings it all crashing down. Ross is a bastard and has _always_ been a bastard but it’s like getting punched in the face with that fact. The shit about him wanting to imbue the American military with magical powers? Icing on the cake. Stephen is done with him before he even gets that far. He’s been so stupid. So very, _very_ stupid.

He thinks that might be the end of it. No—he _hopes_ that might be the end of it. The guilt that blossoms in his gut, fully formed and heavy and dragging, which has been there all along even though he’s been denying it, recedes as he returns to the Sanctum. This is the end of it. He’ll have nothing more to do with Ross and nothing more to do with the Sons of Odin.

The Sanctum is too quiet. Wong isn’t home. Stephen trails up the stairs to the Chamber of Relics and stands there, feeling his mind starting to grind into gear even before it quite gets to the thoughts he doesn’t want to have. Whatever relief he felt from the guilt was fleeting because it comes roaring back, slamming into him like a truck, like a train. He feels sick. He has to get a grip. What’s done is done. The magic he performed on Loki has been lifted and the guy is free to go wherever he wants.

He licks his lips and tries to ignore how badly his hands are trembling. The tremor keeps him from balling them into fists. Instead, he shrugs off the Cloak, which streaks away. “What, did I piss you off too?” Stephen asks. His voice sounds forlorn to his own ears.

Suddenly, the long hours stretching out between now and night, when he can go to bed and this day can be over, seem endless. What is he supposed to do to fill them?

His hands are still shaking. Obviously.

With a huff of frustrated breath, he runs both hands through his hair. He has studies, right? The library’s full of books and he can always learn more. Of course, look at him, forgetting the most basic thing he ever learned as a doctor. Do no harm. Some good that eidetic memory was doing him.

_See, that’s the thing, Stephen. You never_ forgot. _You just decided you were above it. Or Loki was beneath it. Beneath consideration. Not quite a person. A monster._

There’s no doubt that Loki has done monstrous things. But _that’s_ the thing. Guilt and shame knot and twist in Stephen’s gut. That’s the thing. There’s a difference between doing monstrous things and being a monster. By purposefully, deliberately wounding Loki, when he swore an oath to never do such a thing, isn’t that monstrous? Never mind swearing an oath—isn’t it just basic human decency? You don’t willfully harm another. Loki had been hurting no one when Stephen had trapped him, bullied Thor into a deal, and then cut Loki off from his powers in a way that Stephen knew would hurt him and make him sick. How is this not monstrous?

_It was a mistake. A mistake you rectified._

Except, had he? This isn’t exactly filling some paperwork out wrong and creating extra work for the people at the licensing board. This is a person. A flesh and blood person who had experienced real pain, real hurt, at Stephen’s hands—all while Stephen was telling himself that he was doing the right thing.

The knot in his stomach twists harder, filling all the available space, and he wonders, for a second, if he’s actually going to be sick.

_Find a book. Any book. It doesn’t matter._

What matters is filling his mind with something, literally anything, else.

He teleports to the library and grabs the first book he sees. It’s a book of Sumerian spells. Fine. Whatever. He forces himself to read it, feels like he’s forcing time to pass through sheer force of will, which is ironic, of course, because this is something that he used to be able to actually do. If he still had the Time Stone, he might be tempted to go back and change what he’s done, to break natural law simply because this is so hard to live with.

The book takes a few hours to read. He chooses another one, and then one after that. And then another, and then it’s midnight, past midnight, and there’s a gnawing in his stomach that has nothing to do with the fact that he hasn’t eaten all day. He knows he should try to sleep—and he is, in fact, exhausted—but he feels so tightly wound, so jittery and shaky, that the idea of getting into bed and trying to rest isn’t just laughable, it’s actually repulsive.

His eyes are burning. The Sanctum’s silence now seems accusatory.

Stephen puts his elbows on the table and hangs his head, linking his trembling fingers behind his neck and resting them there. He feels like he’s sinking into a morass that he can’t possibly pull himself out of; this reminds him of nothing so much as the months after his accident, when he’d become increasingly desperate for something, anything, to cure him, to fix what he’d done to himself through his own arrogance and stupidity. The substance of the two events is completely different. But somehow, the feeling is the same.

When he looks up, it’s 3:38 in the morning. How can that be? Time creeps more slowly than it possibly should, then it rushes by all at once.

It’s 9:38 in the morning in Norway. Loki, he’s sure, is awake. He’ll be up and doing whatever it is that he does there. Stephen tries to picture it. Why? Just to torment himself? What he needs to do is never think about Loki again and forget the part that he played in this whole sordid affair. But Loki appears in his mind’s eye, anyway. He knows Thor and Loki think he’s been spying on them constantly—or if not constantly, then near enough. That isn’t true. He’s kept tabs, yes. But it’s been awhile since he’s done that, even.

A stupid thought crosses his mind. He wonders if Loki is _okay_. And it’s a bit late to be wondering about that. Loki had looked fine earlier in the day. Er, yesterday. Were Stephen to peer at him now, he knows what he would see. A Norse god completely in his element. He’d be striking in Norway, no doubt about that.

This is idiotic. Thinking about the person he’s wronged isn’t going to help him move on.

He’s afraid nothing will help him move on. He’s afraid that he might have done something permanent to his own soul, blackened it in a way that will be impossible to scrub off.

He should go to bed.

He doesn’t go to bed.

Wong still isn’t back, which means something’s going on somewhere. Or maybe he’s just catching up with whoever he went to see. If something was going on, Stephen would have heard about it by now. He’s just grasping, looking for something to occupy his mind. The idea of picking up another book is upsetting in some indefinable way and it sends him scrambling out of the library and down to the kitchen. Immediately, he regrets that. The sight of food makes him queasy.

He goes for a walk outside. The Village is quiet. An NYPD squad car—the same one, he reads the license plate—passes him a few times, slowly, but he’s quiet, hands in his pockets, moving. He has the advantage of being a white guy, plus he’s not wearing the Cloak. He’s pretty sure the Cloak is mad at him so he didn’t bother calling to it to come with. Anyway, he’s not obviously drunk, not obviously homeless, and the cops leave him alone. After one turn around the block, he finds himself in front of the Sanctum’s front door again, but he doesn’t want to go inside. So he keeps walking.

By the time the sun comes up, he’s made it to Inwood. He stands in Inwood Hill Park, the northernmost tip of Manhattan, and stares at the dark blue of the Hudson, the sun rising behind him glinting on the current. Across the river in Jersey, the Palisades are blinding with the sunrise. Most of the leaves have fallen from the trees and the bare branches claw at the pale blue sky.

The walking hasn’t really done anything to stop his thoughts, but at least he had to think about not getting run over once rush hour started. No one else is in the park. He can’t remember the last time he was here. Maybe when he was a kid? He knows he’s been, but despite the photographic memory, he can’t place it, exactly. Donna was still alive. He remembers climbing on the exposed schist, hiding in the glacial pothole while they played hide and seek. The potholes have another name—giant’s kettles?

Which makes him think of Frost Giants, which makes him think of Loki. The knot of guilt in his gut is no longer simply his intestines twisting around themselves, it’s his insides turning to lead. It’s poisoning him, seeping through his body. What is he going to do?

Okay. There are options.

  1. Nothing. Time heals all wounds. It will heal Loki’s and it will heal his.
  2. Uh. Maybe…donate to charity? Unfortunately, he can’t think of a charity that helps the magically oppressed.



Yeah, no. He knows what three is before he lets the thought fully form in his mind. Three isn’t doable.

Except it might be the only way.

No. _No_. He’s done enough damage. This isn’t about him. _Sound familiar?_

It’s _not_ about him. His guilt is his penance, his cross to bear. He fucked up and this is the prison he’ll live in for as long as it takes. Is he actually imagining that he can go to Norway, find Loki, and apologize? Explain himself, explain that he knows it was wrong, and beg for forgiveness that he knows he doesn’t deserve?

It’s stupid. It’s beyond stupid. It’s selfish.

~~ 3\. Apologize to Loki ~~

There’s no one around to see him use his sling ring, but he doesn’t. Slowly, he turns away from the river and begins walking home. When he gets to Cathedral Parkway, he considers hopping on the subway, but he keeps walking. It’s a nice morning, considering it’s Halloween—not too cold, bright and crisp, the kind of morning he usually likes. But he can’t like anything right now. Everything feels bitter.

Back at the Sanctum, he considers showering, considers shaving, but does neither. His mind is skittering now, his hands are shaking so badly he drops a glass of water. It shatters at his feet and he swears, then feels like he’s either going to scream or cry. In the end he does neither; he simply stands there, his shoulders heaving, his heart racing, even though he hasn’t exerted himself.

Finally, with a wave of his hand and a spell whispering through his mind, he repairs the glass.

He cannot go on like this.

Somehow, when he looks at the clock, it’s 3:38. Again. He laughs, startling himself at the sound. If he wasn’t standing in front of the window staring out at the fall afternoon, he would have questioned if any time had passed at all.

Stephen rubs a hand over his face, then digs his knuckles into his eyes. Neon flashes dance across his eyelids. It’s 9:38 in Norway.

He pushes his knuckles further into his eyes, then drops his hands. But he lets the spots flash across his closed eyelids for another few seconds. He needs to do this. He can’t live like this. There’s no doubt in his mind that Loki won’t want his apology, but he has to offer it.

With a deep breath in and out, Stephen opens his eyes. It’s an indecent time to go calling. But compared to what he’s already done, it’s nothing.

Stephen fingers his sling ring, arguments running through his mind. None of them matter. He’s already made his decision. It doesn’t make him feel better, but whether or not he feels better depends mostly on Loki.

That makes him laugh mirthlessly. Look at that. His wellbeing now depends on the man whose wellbeing he had no regard for. If that’s not poetry, Stephen doesn’t know what is.

He drops his arms to his sides and clears his mind. Then, he lifts a hand, circles it, and steps through the portal into the dark streets of Seine, Norway.


End file.
